Mike Andrews and I sat on a couch, watching Saturday morning television. Mike kept flicking his eyes at a huge fly banging against the window. Without warning, he grabbed the remote control from my hand and snapped off the television.

"Um, hello?" I told him.

"Look," he said, "Grownups tell us it's a waste of time to watch television all day, right?"

If Mike Andrews -- redheaded and with a middle name of Trouble -- opens with a question when he already knows the answer, he has a scheme cooking.

Normally, I don't mind Mike's schemes. Except for the painfully bright mixture of colors he always seems to wear, and the bad jokes he comes up with, you can hardly ask for more in a best friend.

Only now I wasn't keen on trouble. We were in the family room of my house and there was no way I could leave for any trouble to happen somewhere else. Somewhere safer.

"Couldn't this wait until Joel's not around?" I asked. I was baby-sitting because Mom and Dad were taking a mini-break, something they did one Saturday a month. They spent the entire day together, like best friends, just enjoying each other's company. Yuck -- romance between parents.

Mike left the couch and paced back and forth. "Genius has no patience, pal," he said. "Besides, Joel's got his video games downstairs. We won't disturb him."

"Obviously," I said, "you've decided to forget everything you know about the little brat."

Joel's seven. I'm nearly fourteen. Joel scares me. Until about a year ago, he was almost invisible as a little brother. Back then -- and I can't believe I remember it as the good old days -- he spied on me all the time and would show up and disappear again when I least expected it or wanted it, giving me atomic heart attacks. Back then, he had this old teddy bear he carried everywhere. Threatening to take it away from him was my only defense. Back then, he hardly ever spoke.

Now, he still showed up and disappeared like a stupid ghost. He still liked watching whatever I did. Only the teddy bear was gone. I wish he still carried it. For a while, he'd made up for no teddy bear with a cowboy routine, carrying a cap gun everywhere and shooting a loud bang at the worst times. Whenever he thought about his missing gun, he got grumpy. Mom and I had decided to wait a few years to tell him it was in the attic.

Not only was Joel's teddy bear gone, but he talked more. A lot more. All his shyness was gone. He didn't mind jumping in on conversations between me and my friends. Or discussing with Mom and Dad the things he overheard.

"All right," Mike said, "even if Joel shows up, what harm can he do?"

I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a loud sigh at Mike's stupid question.

"Well," he said, "it's not like I'm planning anything that will go wrong."

"Sure. Should I remind you about that watermelon and the giant slingshot?"

Mike winced. "Slight miscalculation."

Slight, all right. We'd buried a wheelbarrow so only the handles showed, then cut a car tire tube open. We'd attached one end of that giant rubber band to one handle, the other end of the tire tube to the other wheelbarrow handle, and had ourselves the world's largest slingshot. Which would have been fine, except the watermelon we fired went a little farther than we expected.

"So tell me, Mike," I said, not caring that he could hear distrust in my voice. "What's on your mind now?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Right," I said. "And after that, instead of getting on an airplane for next week's trip to Canada, we'll flap our arms and fly like birds to visit my grandfather."

"Funny you should say that word," he said, grinning his usual pumpkin-sized grin.

"What word?"

"Fly." Mike pointed at the window where the big black fly still bumped against the glass. "That's how we're going to win our money."

"Start from the beginning," I told him. "You've lost me somewhere."

"America's Funniest Home Videos," he said. "You know, the television show. We'll send them the best video of the year."

"Sure," I said, not meaning it.

"I've already decided I'm going to buy a motorcycle for when I'm old enough to drive it. Yeah, our parents are going to tell us to save it for college, but with all that money, I bet I can talk them into letting me spend a little of it on fun stuff."

"Um, Mike?"

"Yes, Ricky."

"One slight detail." I stood up, walked over, held his chin with one hand, and slapped his face gently with my other hand. "This is your wake-up call. You can't spend money you haven't won. Don't you think there's a billion people all trying to send in a funny home video?"

"Shhhhh!" He walked away from me toward the fly at the window. He watched for several seconds, then with one quick swipe of his hand, he scooped the fly into his fist. He walked back to me, and held his fist close to my ear. I heard the muted buzzing of the fly.

"Look, pal," he said. "All we need are about twenty more flies. You got a jar we can keep them in?"

"Then what?"

"Not much. After we've got the flies, we need popsicle sticks and glue."

"Then what?"

"We'll need your parents' camcorder to videotape."

"Then what?" I've learned not to trust Mike when he doesn't tell me everything up-front.

He explained. I whistled in admiration.

"You're right," I said. "What could go wrong?"